


Paroquet

by Lemon Dr Pepper (sh1defier), lemon_dr_pepper



Category: Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Belifaa is mild but relevant enough to mention, Canon-Typical Violence, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild Blood, Wing Grooming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-17
Updated: 2019-05-17
Packaged: 2020-03-06 23:37:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18861262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sh1defier/pseuds/Lemon%20Dr%20Pepper, https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemon_dr_pepper/pseuds/lemon_dr_pepper
Summary: It’s exhausting being the better person that Sariel makes him into, but he just can’t help but spoil him.





	Paroquet

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes you just want to write fluff! Sariel! Inspired by a bunch of really cute fanart that crossed my Twitter feed one day.

You’d think a group of Fallen Angels, even low-ranking ones, could handle one single escaped experiment.  According to the mess this lab has been reduced to, though, apparently that’s not the case. The floor is strewn with shattered glass that crunches beneath his shoes, as well as chunks of both subject and researcher alike torn apart amid the scramble to catch the damned thing.  The dust has barely settled; the smell of chemical waste hangs in the air with it and mixes with the metallic scent of blood, coagulated amid the rubble. The monster’s body is crumpled against the far wall and is going ignored now that the initial rampage has been quelled. Really--sure, this beast was sizeable, but Belial’s taken bigger.  Then again, it isn’t about the size so much as how you use it, and apparently the new core fusion process Lucilius has been playing around with produced some potent results this time around. Some sort of mass destructive impulse? Seems promising, at least. What sorts of tormented souls were stuffed into that flesh bag, again? He’ll review the report once he’s put an effective gag order on everyone in this neck of the lab.

As wades through the disaster zone, Belial claps his hands to command the attention of the research team struggling to save what they can from ruin:  “Deputy Head speaking! As of right now, I’m taking over this project. I think the rest of you need a crash course in laboratory safety before you get back into the real work.  First lesson: A clean lab is a safe lab. This blood’s going to stain if we don’t get rid of it. Let’s clean this up, people! Cut your losses and move on!” His white pants are already drenched in the stuff.  It’s not a bad look for him, but he’d have done his hair a bit differently if he’d known he was going to be sporting it. The newly-dubbed custodial interns shuffle off to take up their new arms (mops, mostly), while he stands in the center of the room with his hands on his hips surveying their work.  “Now, who used to be in charge here? I need a base assessment of the physical damage to equipment, location, and staff.” The humiliated former project manager ambles over to plead his case; Belial prods some squishy black mass with his foot as he listens. It sloughs off, leaving a mass of feathers smeared across the ground.  That’s unfortunate.

“...That’s as much as I can report right now, Deputy Head.  We haven’t had the chance to do a more thorough check for damage to the structural integrity of the lab.  Sariel had only just finished taking it down when you arrived.”

Belial raises his foot and plucks away a feather that’s glued itself to the underside.  He wipes the blood off onto his pants to get a better look. “One more time--did you say Sariel was involved here?”

The former manager nods anxiously.  “Y-Yes sir! He’s the one who finally killed it.  Um, I mean,” he doubles back, “he’s the one who killed it!  We originally planned to bring it in alive, but he intervened--”

“Such a shame.  You were doing a fabulous job of keeping it contained.  You didn’t mention Sariel in your initial report.” He twists the feather in his hand to check it from another angle.

“Well, no sir, you asked about staff.  Sariel wasn’t a part of this project.”

“He’s essential personnelle.”  The ex-manager flinches. “So where did Sarry wander off to when he finished cleaning up after you?”

“I, uh…  I don’t know.  Isn’t he with you?”  Belial stops twirling the feather between his fingers and offers it out to the the ex-manager.  There’s a lovely indigo sheen in the plume and a cream color down around the calamus.

“Seems like it.  Hold this for me.”  He drops it into the other man’s hand, then turns around and calls out into the room.  “Yo, Sarry! It’s Belial! Where are you?” No response. “Sariel? Hmm.” A few other researchers give a cursory glance around before returning to their work.  His lips thin. He scans the room with more focus and locates one stationary, pulsating aura under the beast’s body. Without a word he grabs the ex-manager’s arm and strides across the room with him, the manager stumbling along in a vain effort to avoid being dragged.  He drops him at the side of the corpse and scales it for a look at the other side. That’s an even more nightmarish pile of steaming gore than the rest of the room, but the fatal blow has the clean precision of a vivisection. And people think Sariel wouldn’t make a good scientist...  Sariel is, as expected, laying among the mess--or rather making up a portion of it, being half-mangled himself. Belial grimaces. “You good, Sarry?”

Sariel’s breathing is coming in ragged gasps, but he weakly nods.  “D-Deputy… I’m sorry. I, I didn’t want to…”

“Don’t worry about it.  Give yourself a break, I’ll take it from here.”  Belial slides back down the other side of the monster.

“Is, er, he doing okay?” the ex-manager asks warily.  He’s already trembling, and Belial hasn’t done a thing!  Then again, the deputy does have a bit of a reputation for being soft on Sariel.

“Not really.  He took a serious beating from your test subject.  His wings are a wreck.”

The other angel’s hand clenches around the feather as if to hide it.  “Oh, that’s… unfortunate.”

“To say the least.  I’m not worried, though.”  He wipes his hands on his pants, leaving bloody handprints smeared alongside the stripes and splatters.  “He’s used to regenerating.”

“Well, yes, I’m sure he is.  He’s the archangel of execution, isn’t he?  I-I’ve heard he’s been torn apart a few times.”

“You heard right.  That’s why you didn’t mind letting him lay here all alone, right?”  The other, smaller, more frightened angel cringes. “He’s not in the slaughtering business anymore, actually,” Belial continues, setting his hand on his shoulder.  “He hates hurting things. Isn’t that just terrible?”

“I um, I wasn’t aware.”  

Belial nods solemnly.  “I’d say you owe him a favor for saving your crew, especially since he had to put himself out so much to do it.  You’ve got wings, don’t you? You’re an angel.”

The other angel’s face pales.

“Don’t you?”

“Y…  Yes, I…”  Just two, it turns out as they’re coerced out of him.  Belial gently turns the shaking manager around to get a better look.  Two plain grey ones. Nothing special, drones like him are more expendable than the dead thing lying between them and Sariel, but they’ll do.  He elbows the beast’s back to get Sariel’s attention and calls over his shoulder.

“Close your ears for a hot second, Sarry.”  He grasps the manager at the base of those wings and places his foot against the base of his spine.

* * *

 

“What sort of creature were you working on when this happened?”

Belial leans back against the clean, white wall.  Having finally changed into some fresh clothes, he’s no longer covered in blood, but he still looks a bit haggard.  “A mistake,” he replies with a shake of his head and a slump of his shoulders. “You know how it goes. The road of evolution takes a few turns down dead ends.”

“I suppose it’s true.”

“Do me a favor, Gabe?  Don’t tell Lucifer.”

So much for that gag order.  Sariel’s condition wasn’t exactly ideal for leaving alone, and it looks like the pink-haired primarch has nothing better to do than play nurse today.  It’s too bad it isn’t Michael--adjutant or not, she wouldn’t ask questions if Belial batted his eyelashes at her enough. Gabriel isn’t as pliable, but he knows how to butter up the best of them.

“I know it looks bad, but you’re in a similar boat with your role, aren’t you?  Living beings need water to survive, but if you hold most mortals’ heads under for long enough, they’ll die anyway.  What’s the difference between morning dew and a natural disaster? It’s all water.”

She smiles, seemingly pacified.  “Fair enough.”

“He’s been extra bad about stressing himself out lately.  We barely convinced him to ease off and let me handle the Fallen Angels in the first place.  If he works himself up over a minor upset like this he’ll never let it go, and there’s one more thing on his plate he’s going to fixate on and try to carry on his shoulders…”  He idly rolls his hand in the air. “You know how he gets.”

“Yes, I do.  I’ve been noticing the same thing recently...”  Gabriel crosses her arms, tucking in her ribbon around her body.  “Does Lucilius know?”

“Yes, and he’s livid.”  Well, he was until Belial produced the numbers that allowed him to measure just how much chaotic energy his little experiment operated on.  Then he was pretty pleased. “If he rats me out to Lucifer, I’ll keep your name out of it in exchange for your silence on the matter. Angel’s honor.”  He crosses his heart.

“Very well.  I’ll keep it a secret.  I know you have Lucifer’s best interests at heart.”  She giggles with a gentle smile. “I’m sure you’d like to take it from here with Sariel, then?  He gets so antsy whenever someone besides you tries to look him over. And so do you.”

“Haha.”  He rolls his eyes, but there’s a smile on his face.  “Yeah, let me take care of Sarry. How’s he doing?”

“Well, he’s more or less back in one piece.  He rivals Raphael when it comes to regeneration, honestly.  But don’t tell Raphael that, either.” Belial mimes zipping his lips and winks.  “He still needs a real examination, though. By the way…” She looks curiously in the direction of the door.  “Whose wings are those? They aren’t his.”

“The project manager’s.  He felt so bad about needing to be rescued that he offered them right up, since Sariel’s got a little torn up in the scuffle.  I’m sure he’ll be thrilled to know it put his regeneration back on track.”

“That was kind of him.  Shall I return them to him, then?”

“Nah, I’ll take care of it.  Now seriously, Gabe! Stop trying to make work for yourself, go enjoy your day off!”  He laughs and playfully pushes her away. “Go on, now. You’re as bad as Lucifer.”

“I can’t help it if I need to occupy myself, Belial.  Besides, who would I be if I were to leave a poor, defenseless, adorable patient all alone?”

Gabriel would make a good Fallen Angel, honestly.  He’s considered trying to recruit her, but that’d mean making a replacement primarch of water, and every new archangel brings the Astral Council’s noses further into their business.  Maybe they could use Sandy for it, assuming Lucifer would let him out of the terrarium he keeps him in and Cilius would agree not to kill him on sight. “I completely understand. But all the same!”  He successfully shoos her away at last, confident that he’s done enough to tie up that loose end for the time being.

With that taken care of, he shuts off his business mindset.  It’s great for damage control, but not exactly conducive to good bedside manner.  He gives a courtesy knock. “Sariel! Make yourself decent, I’m coming to visit.”

The bed in the medical suite is a nest of blue, black, and cream feathers alongside the grey wings he’d torn out of the old project manager folded neatly by the pillows, but is distinctly lacking in actual Sariel.  “Deputy?” comes a soft voice shortly after, though. Belial closes the door behind himself and finds his fellow Fallen Angel curled up on the other side, hidden while the door was partway open. Belial beams down at him.

“Found you!  Good hiding spot, though.”

Sariel is hunched within his wings.  Thankfully, they’ve mostly recovered from the wretched state they were in before, but the damage is still visible in loose dying feathers jutting haphazardly out from between the fresh ones.  His hair is even more of a mess than usual, and his face and body even more gaunt. He isn’t smiling--that’s to be expected--but he does look a little relieved when he looks up.

Belial offers him a hand, but Sariel doesn’t move, so it winds up back in his pocket.  He glances over his shoulder at the bed. “You didn’t want to try out having six?”

“No.  I didn’t think it’d be appropriate…”

“What’s the harm in playing fast and loose with the rules now and then?  Not that you have any trouble going toe-to-toe with the primarchs with just your four.”

Sariel’s head sinks between his broad shoulders.  “I don’t want that kind of power.”

“Right.  You’re probably a little shaken up from the fight, aren’t you.”  Belial doubts those wings pack enough punch to push him much further beyond what he already has, but he can’t blame Sariel for being nervous after such a ruckus.    

“I need a medical examination.”  He phrases it like a statement, but there’s an edge of a question in the tone.  Belial shrugs.

“I’m afraid so, but I won’t subject you to a doctor,” he says as he rolls up his sleeves.  “I’ll do it myself and make it quick.” Sariel still seems hesitant to move from his spot, so he sweetens the deal--“We’ll strike your next scheduled one off as compensation.  How’s that sound?” He finally accepts this condition and submits to being doctored up.

The gaping wounds he came in with have sealed themselves up to the outside, though he’s still tender in a lot of places and it’s very visible where.  His vitals are stable, but his poor heart is racing. He really hates these examinations, doesn’t he. Belial will see about knocking off two instead of just one, so long as Sariel doesn’t hurt himself in the meantime.  He wasn’t supposed to hurt himself this much again, period. Considering how promising the monstrosity that did this to him was, though, that’s likely to become the standard for future abominations. Belial makes a mental note to triple down on the security on every new project going forward.  It wouldn’t hurt to tighten a few things on some of the existing ones, either.

“Looks like you’re more or less fixed up,” he says finally, to Sariel’s visible relief, until Belial wags his finger in his face, “but I’m keeping you on bed rest for a bit longer.  I’m no doctor, but I have a feeling you’re still putting an organ or two back in place.” Sariel grimaces. “Hm. That’s going to affect your diet, too… No carbs until I can poke you in the stomach without you doubling over.”  Sariel’s face falls even further. “We’ll find something that’ll be easier on you. How do we feel about sorbet?”

“It’s good,” he replies, looking slightly better again.

“Isn’t it?  Not the most nutritional value in the world, but it’ll keep everything working right until you can handle solid foods again.”

Sariel traces one of the blotchy pink patches on his bare stomach, still in the process of healing itself.  “It won’t take long.”

“Well, you can lie to me if you want to live off the sorbet diet for a little longer.”  Sariel’s not much of a liar, but Belial is good enough for the both of them. To top off the examination he steps back and stretches out one of Sariel’s rattier-looking wings.  It twitches in his hand--must still be tender too--so he handles it with extra care. The newer feathers are still a bit downy, but blood flow through the quills seems in order.  He plucks out a dead one, which prompts Sariel to wrench away and clench it tightly against his body. Belial takes a step back and raises his hands to show that he won’t grab him again.  “The rest of the damage seems cosmetic.” The shuddering in his injured wing seems to have made its way to the rest of Sariel’s body, and now his legs are wobbling precariously. “Okay, we’re done!  You can sit down.” He sinks back to the ground and curls up once more.

Belial frowns.  Sariel can never catch a break, can he?  It’s miserable to watch, and probably twice so to live through.  The angel still standing taps his foot and strokes his chin, then heads to the other side of the room to shuffle through a drawer.  Regenerative powers make it so no one spends that much time in these recovery rooms, but they’re kept well-stocked anyway. Angels are a vain bunch.  Can’t go too long without prettying themselves up. It’s never hard to find the stuff for it.

“Aha!  Here we go.”  He returns to sit across from Sariel, brandishing a brush in each hand.  One has thick, softer bristles; the other, a more aggressive metal set. He holds out both to the other archangel.  “Pick your poison. The metal one’s a little fiesty, but it’ll be better for combing out those stray feathers. The soft one is better for just the wing exterior, but it'll get the job done if I’m willing to keep at it for a while.  I’ve got nowhere to be, so it’s your call.”

Sariel stares at the brushes.  “You?” Belial nods. “Deputy, I don’t understand.”

“You’ll be a lot more comfortable without all those dead bits and pieces clinging to you.  I’m offering to help clean you up.”

“Why?”

Belial laughs.  “You could barely stand, Sarry.  You’ll be out of steam before you reach the third wing.  Besides--it’s fun to be pampered now and then, isn’t it?”

“I wouldn’t say that…”  He hides himself a little more.

“Why not?  Have you ever been pampered before?”  Sariel looks unsure.

“... I don’t think I need it.”

“Don’t knock it ‘till you’ve tried it.”  He waggles the brushes in his direction. Sariel hesitantly takes them and runs each through the thick feathers adorning his right arm.  After a few passes and some consideration, he hands back the wire brush. “This one?” asks Belial.

“That one.”  The soft bristle brush goes to the wayside.

Sariel scoots away from the wall and turns around to display his back.  While Belial gets comfortable behind him, he pulls his long brown hair over his shoulders until the junctions where his wings connect to his body are fully exposed save for the odd loose strand or two.  Belial finishes tucking those out of the way. “Oookay, Sarry. Here we go.” He starts with his lower left wing--well he tries to, but it flinches away the moment his hand touches it. “Relax, I’m going to be very gentle.”  It twitches again, but he manages to hold it in place, at least until the brush comes down on the base feathers. He’s barely sunk the bristles in before Sariel’s body contorts away from him, wing twitching agitatedly. “It’s really hurting that badly?  Do I need to take another look at those?”

“The brush didn’t hurt.”  The wing twitches more. Belial delicately tries again, and again Sariel jerks away, this time doubling over.

“Sariel?”  He hears, just barely, the sound of laughter struggling to be suppressed.  “Hold on, are you ticklish?”

Sariel doesn’t reply, instead just hissing “ouch” under his breath in between his compulsive snickers.  Once he’s caught his breath, he rubs his waist and mutters, “My stomach hurts.”

“You _are_ ticklish!”  He laughs, though Sariel wilts.  “That’s a shame, though. I can’t very well let your diaphragm break something else in there and set your recovery back.  Are all four like that?”

“I don’t know…”  Belial experimentally, but carefully, rakes the brush against the other three to check for twitching.

“Just the latter pair, then?”

“Seems like it.  I don’t care for that.”

“I think it’s funny, but I can see why it’d be a pain.”

“It is literally a pain in my stomach.”

Belial taps the brush into his palm as he considers their options.  “Well, I can do the top two for you, at least. Question--can you reach back here with your hands?”  He’s got long arms and a thin waist. Sariel flexes his bottom wings in around himself and claws at his spine.  His wings don’t flinch away from his own touch even when he digs his nails into the sensitive feathers, and he successfully scratches out a handful of dead ones.  “That’ll work. I’ll let you handle those, then. Sorry I’m making you work after I told you I wouldn’t, but it’ll give your hands something to do.”

“Okay…”  

The plan now adequately revised, Belial pulls back one of the upper wings, rises to his knees, and resumes brushing anew with a happy hum.  He appreciates the opportunity to get a good look at Sariel’s wings. It’s been a long time since he last had a chance. Unlike those of the primarchs, onenote by design, Sariel’s wings are a dramatic wash of colors.  They’re dominated by a dark brown with a vein of blue running through, but the underlayer of interior feathers are a pleasantly contrasting pale yellow. It’s a complementary palette pushed to the extreme with the browns being nearly black and the yellows nearly white so that saturated blue sheen shines right through.  Belial fancies himself the twilight that comes before the sunset; Sariel is the dusk, the _pièce de résistance_ right before the sky goes black.

(Belial may have had a hand or two in Sariel’s development.  There’s no shame in being proud of one’s own handiwork.)

Other angels grown since Sariel have had more experimental flavor thrown in, but Sarry was the trendsetter.  Technically he was predated by Sandalphon, whom Lucifer was allowed to go wild with (producing a single, daring stripe!  Lucifer, what a visionary!), but Stand-by Sandy doesn’t count. That’s also only true for the angels worth anything to the operation.  Throw-aways designed to watch tubes and take measurements generally don’t get much thought. It’s a shame in a way, but Belial supposes it makes sense not to waste time and resources on the disposable.  Besides, the fancier they are, the more the Council hates them. The phrase “complete obedience to astrals” hangs in the back of his mind as a semi-requested, semi-demanded trait for new models; Lucilius flat-out won’t do it, but no one wants them to put the pressure on.

Sariel begins to shift uncomfortably.  “Hm? You all right there, Sarry?”

“Deputy.  I have a question.”  

“Shoot.”

Sariel’s hands pick at the bloodless feathers at his wingtips.  “The wings you gave me earlier… You tore those out of the Project Manager, didn’t you?”

Caught red-handed, literally.  “I was hoping you weren’t listening to that…”

“I heard the screams.  You were right behind me.”

“I should’ve probably taken him a little further away.  Try not to let it bother you,” he says, moving up the length of the wing he’s currently working on.  “He’s as much a tool as the rest of us. If anything, I gave him a taste of something better to do than crunching numbers all day long.”

Sariel doesn’t sound satisfied.

Belial softens his tone of voice.  “He was being awfully cruel to you, you know.  He was fine letting you suffer. I didn’t even know you were there until he let it slip, and then he tried to make it seem like you did something wrong.  The nerve!”

“I don’t care.”  Belial sighs again.  “I’m used to it. If someone’s going to suffer, it may as well be me.”

“Come on, Sarry.  You know you can’t ask that of me.”

“You shouldn’t hurt people for no good reason.”

“No good reason?  Hellooo?” Belial pulls a handful of ragged feathers out of the brush and lets them fall between his fingers next to Sariel.  “Your wings were shredded. You were going to take forever to regenerate, and considering how much you needed to regenerate, I figured you could use the boost.”

“You shouldn’t hurt people unless you have to.”  Oh, sweet Sariel. If that’s what he’s come to feel, Belial’s glad he hasn’t quite wrapped his head around what the Fallen Angels are actually trying to accomplish.

“I consider looking after you kind of a priority.  As far as I’m concerned, that was a ‘have to’ moment if there ever was one.  Don’t tell me you would’ve let _me_ die back there!”

“I wouldn’t!” he replies quickly.  “But I wasn’t going to die.”

“You don’t know that.”  Nearing the end of the wing, Belial forgoes the brush and plucks the longest of the loose feathers with his hands, then sits back to survey his work.  This one’s nice and glossy now, with plenty of room for the new batch of feathers to grow in healthy and solidify strong. “That’s one down. How are you doing on that one?”

“I’m getting there.  I work slower than you do.”

“It’s easier for me because I have the brush.  Soldiering on, then.” He moves to the other side and continues where he left off.  “Anyhow, as I was saying, you don’t know whether you would’ve died if you’d been abandoned back there.”

“I’ve regenerated from worse situations…”  Disturbing, but true, but also beside the point.

“Being eviscerated is no longer a part of your job description, and unless you’re more of a masochist than I realized, I doubt you enjoyed it.”  He pauses, then leans around him. “Did you?”

“No…  I’m not a masochist.”

“Well there you go.”  Back to work. “You hated having to kill something again, too, didn’t you?”

Sariel flinches--emotionally this time, not from a tickle.  “I didn’t want to do it. But someone needed to. It was out of control, and none of those researchers were designed for battle.”

“You had to protect them.”  Sariel nods. “And I have to protect you.  You need at least _one_ person watching your back.”  Sariel shrugs to that. Belial scoots over as he works his way up and steals a glance at his glum expression.  “They owed you thanks for saving them, and doubly so for doing it even though it upset you. You were hurt both physically and emotionally.  Two troubles to make up for, two displays of gratitude, two wings. It flows logically.”

“I don’t know if I’d say that…”  Sariel’s mood doesn’t seem to be improving.  He interrupts to ruffle all four of his wings, but then slumps over again to allow Belial to continue.  “But you’re smarter than me. Maybe you’re right…”

“I’m smarter than literally anyone else here besides Lucilius by design.”  He taps himself on the chin with the brush, then throws him a bone. Sariel is so hard to say ‘no’ to, even when he isn’t asking for anything.  “In complete fairness, emotional matters aren’t really based on quantifiable intelligence. If you feel a certain way, you feel a certain way. There’s not always a logical explanation for it.  I’m just very good at inventing excuses--you’re the one who gets to decide whether to buy into them or not.”

Instead of responding, Sariel quietly retreats into preening his feathers.  He’ll allow him to mull on that thought for a while. Hopefully the guilt he feels has been at least a little soothed.  The angel being attended to finally finishes grooming his first bottom wing, and his voice breaks the silence again. “Deputy, there’s something I want to do.”  He must be feeling better if he’s willingly talking this much. “I want to give the wings back to the Project Manager. With my own two hands.”

Belial falters.  He recovers quickly, but he is thankful that Sariel can’t see his face.  “You do, huh? I was just planning on running them over myself to save you the conversation.”

“No, I want to do it.  I think I’ll feel better if I give them back.  Even if I don’t like talking… I want to thank him, even if he was forced or didn’t want to do it.  He was put through a lot of trouble, too.” Sweet, sweet Sariel. His voice has a hopeful tone Belial doesn’t often hear from him.

How in blazes did someone as gentle as Sariel manage to come from Belial’s influence?  He’s not blind to his own faults, even if he has no intention of changing his behavior.  “That’s a noble way of thinking, Sarry,” he says, nonchalantly brushing away. Sariel’s aura seems to grow lighter, while Belial’s takes the extra weight.  Hopefully Sariel doesn’t notice. He just happens to be harboring a vivid mental image of Lucilius gleefully tearing cores out of the defunct research team and shoving them together into a bigger, badder version of the monster they were supposed to be watching.  The irony is delicious, but Sariel will probably be too devastated to appreciate the artistry of it. Well, there’s Belial’s next project once he’s done here: Maybe if he’s quick enough he can beat Lucilius to the punch. He can argue that their cores aren’t worth the effort it would take to extract them, they’ll probably kill themselves down the line anyway and they can gather them up along with some useful data on whatever they failed to contain.  He can tackle the schedule and shuffle around the teams across the board, promote the better ones, put the useless ones on something banal but necessary. He can put himself out and take whatever punishment Lucilius demands as retribution--hell, he can just put out, not that he ever needs an excuse for that. He can at _least_ convince Lucilius to hold off on it long enough for Sariel to return the wings, so long as Lucilius hasn’t already gotten started.

It’s exhausting being the better person that Sariel makes him into, but he just can’t help but spoil him.

“At least let me find him and make sure he sticks around long enough to accept your thanks.  He’s a bit jumpy, that one. Don’t want to scare him away.”

“I would appreciate that…  And, also…”

“Yes?”

“I don’t know what to say.  You’re good at talking to people.  I need your help with that, too.”

“Don’t overthink it.  You don’t have to give a speech.”  Belial wouldn’t mind writing one up if only to force the old project manager to stand there sweating for the time it takes Sariel to make his way through it, but he can’t do that to Sariel.  “Just tell him that you’re grateful that he lent you his wings, and that you’re just about back in tip-top shape, all thanks to him. I’m sure he’ll be very flattered.”

“Hm.  I’ll try to remember that.”

Belial sets the brush aside and takes Sariel by the base of his topmost wings.  He carefully pulls them back until the joints pop, then gives them a rotate and then a satisfied pat.  “And with that, I think I’m done here. How does that feel? Better, right?”

Sariel flutters the top pair and stretches them back to front more dramatically than Belial dared to try.  “I feel more comfortable,” he admits, his voice sounding relieved. “I don’t hurt or itch or anything. Thank you, Deputy.”

“Now you don’t have to wait for those old feathers to shed out.”

Sariel looks down at the impressive pile that’s accumulated around them.  “Sorry about the mess…”

“No biggie.  Honestly, there’s enough here that I could make a fancy feather boa out of them, with your permission.”  Some of them are a bit on the bloody side, but feathers aren’t that hard to clean. It could be a fun follow-up project to the potentially-disastrous effort to spare the project manager long enough for Sariel to thank him.  “You know how much we Fallen Angels love to recycle...” he adds.  
“What’s important is that they aren’t stuck to you anymore.  I think you could still use something like a salt bath or a good steam, maybe, to really clear out those pores.  Although heat and salinity might be rough on you while you’re still recovering… Well, we’ll think on it.”

“Okay.”  Belial grins.  There’s audible relief in Sariel’s voice, and while his posture is never great, he’s no longer making himself into the smallest ball he can.  “I’m not finished with this one, though…” It happens to be the one Belial had tried to examine before, the one that was both particularly sensitive and particularly traumatized.  Thick mats of dead plumes remain distributed throughout it. It’ll be a while yet before they can call it clean. Rather than offer him advice, Belial reaches over Sariel’s shoulders and gathers his lengthy hair into his hands, which he then maneuvers to spill down his back once more.  Sariel glances over his shoulder. “Deputy?”

“Take your time.  Your wings aren’t the only thing that could use a good brushing.”

Sariel cringes away when Belial brushes at the small wing-like protrusion curling around the side of his head, but relaxes and returns to his work once the brush is away from his face.

“Depending on how long it takes you to finish up, maybe I’ll get fancy and braid it.”

“It won’t stay that way for very long.  I can’t keep up with my hair.”

“Your hair is as long as Lucilius is tall, Sarry.  Notice how short mine is. I think it’d be fun to try for a little while, though, no?”

Sariel thinks for a moment, then shakes out his head and leans back to give Belial better access to his scalp.  The preening continues.

* * *

 

“I’m grateful that you lent me your wings.  I’m just about back in tip-top shape, thanks to you.”  Belial stands watching from a distance as Sariel dutifully parrots the script nearly word-for-word, just as they practiced.  The manager’s lackluster grey wings are affixed to his back once again, but he is cowering under Sariel’s display of camaraderie.  What an ungrateful little man. He hopes Sariel follows up like he told him to--and he does. “They weren’t big or powerful enough to complete my regeneration, but until the rest of my organs grow back I will get to eat sorbet, so that’s fine.  I don’t care. Mine are almost grown in again.” Perfect. It doesn’t hurt to remind the former ‘manager’ where he falls within the pecking order. He has a feeling Sariel didn’t pick up on that implication, otherwise his sweet disposition would’ve probably stopped him from saying it.  Hopefully the wannabe-angel gets the picture, though, and will remember not to disregard Sariel in the future. That’s assuming he lives long enough to see it, of course.

“Uh-Umm…  Um,” the manager in question stammers in place of anything coherent.  Belial had to practically snatch him out of the extractor to let this little exchange happen, and Lucilius was irritated enough at the interruption that he’s followed out to watch too.  He’s waiting impatiently beside Belial, sneering. In addition to the presence of his would-be murderer, the manager still views Sariel as executioner rather than teammate, and of course Belial already ripped him apart once.   Despite the intervention, the project manager’s remaining days still look more like minutes.

Sariel is giving him a chance to respond, but from the manager’s perspective he’s staring him down from behind his mask--he decided to wear the mask to make himself feel more comfortable conversing with a stranger, and Belial opted not to discourage the decision.  The ex-manager was never going to accept Sariel’s kindness regardless of how Sariel dressed to meet him. His misleading reputation, menacing stature (he towers over the other angel even with his poor posture), piercing blue eyes, and the mistaken identity the manager has thrust upon him are all too much of a bias for the lesser angel to overcome.  Even the adorable braids Belial wove into his hair aren’t doing anything for him. Honestly the dissonance of that detail juxtaposed to the others probably terrifies the manager even more.

That said, it seems that the manager has figured out that the once-executioner is now his only savior, so he is appropriately polite.  “U-Um… T-Thank you, Sariel,” he finally manages. “I, ah, you didn’t have to thank me. I owed you…” His eyes briefly flit past Sariel to lock with Belial’s.  Belial winks.

“I know.  I decided to thank you anyway.  You went through trouble, too.” The manager nods, then shakes his head, looks fearfully at Belial again, then nods again.  Maybe Belial will see about keeping him alive after this after all. They could use a little jester to keep the morale up.

It’s going to take some convincing, though.  Lucilius isn’t nearly as impressed. “Are you satisfied now that you’ve put on a show of empathy for your pet?” he asks.

Belial frowns.  “That’s an awful thing to say, Cilius.  He’s not an animal.”

“He’s trying my patience, as are you.  No Fallen Angel should need this much charade to keep them on task.”

“This sort of thing is exactly why it was such a good idea for me to move Sariel off of execution duty.”  He cuts his eyes down to Lucilius with a cheeky smile. “You can’t pretend you aren’t at least a _little_ intrigued by how much an angel designed for killing wishes to sustain life.”

“Hrm.”  Lucilius’s sour expression remains, but Belial knows he’s right.  “The only thing that impresses me is that a menace like you has been able to raise a being so committed to altruism.”

Says the pot to the kettle.  Belial glows with pride. “Happy to impress.”

“Don’t let it inflate your ego too much.  I have a lengthy list of tests I intend to subject you to in exchange for this favor.”

“You say that like it’s a punishment.”

“Perhaps it’s _your_ core that I should be extracting.”  Belial merely laughs. There’s no way Lucilius actually would.  Sariel ends his exchange by abruptly turning away from it to join the other two people present, leaving the former project manager looking like may die of fright before Lucilius has the chance to get his hands on him again.  

“Deputy--oh.”  Sariel stands up straighter on arrival.  “Head Researcher, you’re here too.”

Belial gives him an encouraging pat on the shoulder.  “Great work out there. Are you happy now?”

“Yes,” he replies.  His face is disguised by the mask, but his eyes are smiling.  “I don’t know if my feelings reached him, but he has his wings back.  I can finish recovering in peace…”

Lucilius is indifferent.  “If you’re finished with your display of narcissistic sentimentality, I have work to do.”  He ignores Sariel entirely and pushes past him, his trajectory a perfect straight line to the angel he just left behind.

Belial grabs his hood and pulls him back before he can get far.  “What’s the rush?” Lucilius shoots him a look that he will need to regenerate from, but Belial doesn’t lose his casual smile.   “You heard Sarry mention sorbet, didn’t you? Let’s make it a family outing. I know you know how to have fun, I’ve seen you do it.”  Lucilius’s expression suggests that Belial may, in fact, need to worry about whether or not his core really is safe after all, but that’s a bridge for the future Belial to cross.  

“I don’t want to interrupt the Head Researcher’s research,” Sariel offers politely, but Belial shakes his head.

“He could use the break.  It’s for your own good, Cilius.  You’ve been working yourself to the bone!”  Recognizing his only chance to escape, the loose angel quickly flaps away on his returned wings.  He will live another day. The same may not be true for Belial after pulling this stunt.

“Head Researcher…”  Sariel picks at one of the braids in his hair, then moves his mask aside to offer Lucilius a rare, daring smile.  “You should come. It won’t be a waste of time. I don’t know if I would say this all the time, but it’s nice to be treated to something nice every once in a while.”

Sariel’s encouragement catches Belial by surprise; his grip lessens enough for Lucilius to yank his robe free from his grip.  But as precious as Sariel’s olive branch is, Belial is legitimately concerned about what is going to come out of Lucilius’s mouth next.  There’s no way for Belial to stop him from mouthing off. It is: “Fine.” That is not the reaction he had anticipated. Belial lights up, as does Sariel, while Lucilius rolls his eyes.  “But I hope you realize that I’ll be spending this ‘family outing’ farce developing additional material to run you through once we’re finished,” he flatly tells his deputy. “And you--” Sariel straightens up again, smile replaced with regret.  “I expect a fully detailed report on your encounter with the experiment you slaughtered. That includes the duration of battle, a summary of your strategy and its efficacy, as well as your full medical report in the aftermath. You say this won’t be a waste of my time?”  The corner of Lucilius’s lip twitches into a smirk. “I’m holding you to that.”

Sariel realizes at this point that his second attempted positive interaction has ended as successfully as the first, and he nods emphatically.  “Yes, Head Researcher. I’ll report every detail.”

Sariel’s extroversion, Lucilius’s agreeableness--both precious as the rarest gem, and Belial is blessed with both at once.  Delight consumes him. He laughs brightly and claps his hands, saying “Sigh!” with humorous, fake reluctance. “Not exactly my idea of good dessert conversation, but I suppose I can’t ask you to turn off your Work Brain on top of everything else.”  Before Lucilius can change his mind, Belial grabs an arm in each hand and drags the two along until they willingly fall into step beside him. Flanked by his gangly groomed companion on one side and his small, still-unruly lover on the other--he’ll get at Lucilius later for a more intimate ‘preen’ and maybe save his own skin in the process--he strides off to keep the good time going.  Perhaps Lucilius was onto something when he called his efforts ‘narcissistic’. He might be doing the bulk of the work, but Belial feels like he’s the one being spoiled the most.


End file.
